WEEKLY WTF
02-17-25 Edition
What’s Happening?
The Gift
How Do Nature Do?
Poet’s Mouth
Unfortunate is the poet
whose muse is tragedy
Perhaps it is better to be
status quo
never high or low
obscure and unknown
chin up and eager eyed
gazing longingly towards the davit of hope
hungry ego
starving
gnashing
for inspiration
Obsequious mediocrity
makes for shitty poems though
Comedy and tragedy are familiar bedfellows but I contend that the one mask
is made only
to obscure the other
A smile is misunderstood
when your world
turns upside down
Fuck it
it’s not your fault
if seawater floods in
then suck it
filter the salt
If inundation is imminent then let misfortune be an elixir to those who are thirsty
let it be a distillation
of tears
a fine wine
without any whining
One can become drunk from the most bitter of spirits
and from woe
we can become wise
like the last drunken
mush mouth ramblings
before passing out
like the knowing smile
and far away gaze
just before death
Whilst splashing about
on the shoreline of life
blissfully ignorantly
marinating in the mere shallows of the unfathomable sea
of suffering
collecting sand with shovel
and pale
with a content
mumbling mouth
full of salt
you are suddenly taken
by a terrible undertow
And as you are swallowed by the oceanic womb
of the muse herself-
a spiraling wet
salty blue blackness
The only words from your drowning poets’ mouth is a gurgled-
Fuuublabuuuublubucckkk
It’s impossible to justify
you who are strong
doing things to cope that
make you weak.
When seeing first hand those
who are weak
doing everything to again
become strong
What they would give
for just a measure
of the strength
you squander
One must remain buoyant
to reach down there
to those who are sinking
and losing their air
It is also selfishness to make of the muse a mistress
a secret thing
The salt of suffering is a panacea if prescribed by measured doses
of the poets pen
To attempt to lock the ocean in a box is mere self indulgent twattery
Even more so than making up words such as “twattery”
The muse-
she emboldens
So what’s a boy to do?
What’s a girl to do?
Let the girl do the boy
let the boy do the girl
let the yin do the yang
let the sea churn its salt
let the light eat its shadow
turn it around, inside out
and right side up
We push forward through the depressive viscous womb of the landlocked life of sand and dirt until we slide out from it into
the true blue brine
wet
naked
crying
and our eyes open again
for the first time
and we Sea
Every tragedy is a new womb
waiting to birth you
but if you are not careful
expectation gestation will
split you
into ones and zeros
into yes’s and no’s
loves and hates
and you will grow new limbs
for the specific purpose
of grasping and pushing
so as to define yourself
by your unique ratios
of love and hate
To be reborn
into your old body
is an opportunity
try not to fuck it up
Wombs aren’t made to wallow in
Nor am I
Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming
until you dissolve
distinctions
and become
the Sea yourself
And the salt?
Keep fucking skimming
Keep.
Fucking.
Skimming.
Dedicated to Miracle Maisie Mae
Toodaloo
